I’m turning you off. Up and now down again.”
“Not exactly erotic conversation we’re having here,” Cape said. “I thought you didn’t want any more heavy stuff tonight. Or sex talk in bed.”
“Right. Beats me why I told you the deep, dark family secret.” Her fingers continued their rhythmic movements, gentle but insistent now. “I’ll shut up,” she said. “We’ll both shut up.”
Didn’t take her long to make him ready again. She knew plenty of little tricks, only needed a couple of them. She mounted him this time, and she was even noisier, more demanding, almost frenzied. As if she were trying to prove something to herself—that she really did enjoy sex, really did like men, in spite of her father and Joe the Rabbit and the sadomasochist and all the others she’d known and been screwed by and had cause to hate.
Cape left her shortly past midnight. He didn’t ask to spend the night, Lacy didn’t issue an invitation. She lay naked on the bed, watching him dress, not saying anything until he was ready to go.
“So when do you leave Tahoe?” she asked then.
“Sunday morning.”
“You could come over again tomorrow night.”
“Mahannah’s poker game. Or didn’t I mention that?”
“You mentioned it. I hope you come up winners, but if they take your money early, I’ll be here.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You do that.”
He said, “I hope you come up winners, too. In the long run, I mean.”
“I will,” she said.
“Easy does it?”
“Right. Easy does it, and you make your own luck.”
“Not always.”
“Often enough.” Sleepy cat stretch. “So long, salesman. If I don’t see you again, it’s been fun.”
17
Lacy was right about Vanowen and Mahannah. They didn’t want anything to do with the law. Voice-mail from Mahannah when Cape got back to the Lakeside Grand. The pair of them had talked it over and they were in agreement: no cops. Don’t tell anybody else what happened, Cape. We’ll discuss it tomorrow night before the poker game. Get to my place by seven-thirty.
People. But it was their problem; let them handle it their way. He’d done all he could. Come Sunday, he’d be out of it for good.
Quiet Saturday morning in South Lake Tahoe. Cape drove all around the Pioneer Trail/Black Bart Road area, covering an eight-block radius. No blue Mitsubishi. No Tanya, no Boone.
Waste of time. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bothered to go over there again. Another encounter with Tanya and her little automatic? Answers to questions that really had nothing much to do with him?
Give it up, Cape. Get on with the rest of your life.
Day trip around the lake. Fallen Leaf Lake, Emerald Bay, Sugar Pine Point, Pine Beach, Homewood, tourist-clogged Tahoe City, Carnelian Bay. Back across the Nevada line and a late lunch in InclineVillage. Nevada State Park, a place called Whittell’s Castle that sounded interesting but wasn’t, Skunk Harbor, Glenwood Bay. Pretty country, but not much different from what he’d already seen coming through the Sierras and driving along the south shore. Restlessness in him now. And the craving for new sights, new experiences, stronger than ever.
He almost regretted accepting Vince Mahannah’s invitation to poker tonight. Almost, but not quite.
Mahannah’s home in Glenwood north of Cave Rock, like the property of everybody with money in the Tahoe Basin, was big, rustic-styled, lakefront, and private. Cut pine logs, redwood shakes, railed redwood deck, covered walkway leading to a T-shaped concrete pier. Inside, just what you’d expect: redwood paneling, native-stone fireplace, mounted dead-animal heads, Native American rugs and wall hangings, a glass-front gun rack loaded with expensive-looking rifles and shotguns. Forty-foot-square game room overlooking the deck and lake: another stone fireplace, dark brown leather couches and chairs, a wet bar, and in the middle under a green-shaded droplight, an antique poker table, hexagonal,
“Not exactly erotic conversation we’re having here,” Cape said. “I thought you didn’t want any more heavy stuff tonight. Or sex talk in bed.”
“Right. Beats me why I told you the deep, dark family secret.” Her fingers continued their rhythmic movements, gentle but insistent now. “I’ll shut up,” she said. “We’ll both shut up.”
Didn’t take her long to make him ready again. She knew plenty of little tricks, only needed a couple of them. She mounted him this time, and she was even noisier, more demanding, almost frenzied. As if she were trying to prove something to herself—that she really did enjoy sex, really did like men, in spite of her father and Joe the Rabbit and the sadomasochist and all the others she’d known and been screwed by and had cause to hate.
Cape left her shortly past midnight. He didn’t ask to spend the night, Lacy didn’t issue an invitation. She lay naked on the bed, watching him dress, not saying anything until he was ready to go.
“So when do you leave Tahoe?” she asked then.
“Sunday morning.”
“You could come over again tomorrow night.”
“Mahannah’s poker game. Or didn’t I mention that?”
“You mentioned it. I hope you come up winners, but if they take your money early, I’ll be here.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You do that.”
He said, “I hope you come up winners, too. In the long run, I mean.”
“I will,” she said.
“Easy does it?”
“Right. Easy does it, and you make your own luck.”
“Not always.”
“Often enough.” Sleepy cat stretch. “So long, salesman. If I don’t see you again, it’s been fun.”
17
Lacy was right about Vanowen and Mahannah. They didn’t want anything to do with the law. Voice-mail from Mahannah when Cape got back to the Lakeside Grand. The pair of them had talked it over and they were in agreement: no cops. Don’t tell anybody else what happened, Cape. We’ll discuss it tomorrow night before the poker game. Get to my place by seven-thirty.
People. But it was their problem; let them handle it their way. He’d done all he could. Come Sunday, he’d be out of it for good.
Quiet Saturday morning in South Lake Tahoe. Cape drove all around the Pioneer Trail/Black Bart Road area, covering an eight-block radius. No blue Mitsubishi. No Tanya, no Boone.
Waste of time. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bothered to go over there again. Another encounter with Tanya and her little automatic? Answers to questions that really had nothing much to do with him?
Give it up, Cape. Get on with the rest of your life.
Day trip around the lake. Fallen Leaf Lake, Emerald Bay, Sugar Pine Point, Pine Beach, Homewood, tourist-clogged Tahoe City, Carnelian Bay. Back across the Nevada line and a late lunch in InclineVillage. Nevada State Park, a place called Whittell’s Castle that sounded interesting but wasn’t, Skunk Harbor, Glenwood Bay. Pretty country, but not much different from what he’d already seen coming through the Sierras and driving along the south shore. Restlessness in him now. And the craving for new sights, new experiences, stronger than ever.
He almost regretted accepting Vince Mahannah’s invitation to poker tonight. Almost, but not quite.
Mahannah’s home in Glenwood north of Cave Rock, like the property of everybody with money in the Tahoe Basin, was big, rustic-styled, lakefront, and private. Cut pine logs, redwood shakes, railed redwood deck, covered walkway leading to a T-shaped concrete pier. Inside, just what you’d expect: redwood paneling, native-stone fireplace, mounted dead-animal heads, Native American rugs and wall hangings, a glass-front gun rack loaded with expensive-looking rifles and shotguns. Forty-foot-square game room overlooking the deck and lake: another stone fireplace, dark brown leather couches and chairs, a wet bar, and in the middle under a green-shaded droplight, an antique poker table, hexagonal,
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